John Greens, John Greens
by modestieispurete
Summary: Bald John Green and Other John Green maneuver many difficulties while they, for the first time, play for different football clubs.
1. Chapter 1

Hey! So this is a little adventure through the lives of Bald John Green and Other John Green, two married footballers who once played for the Swindon Town Swoodilypoopers. If this sentence doesn't make the least bit of sense to you, YouTube "The Miracle of Swindon Town #1" (What's wrong with the American economy?) and dedicate the next 50 or so hours of your life to watching the complete saga of the Swoodilypoopers. For me, it took about 3 weeks (since I had to, you know, go to class and sleep and stuff) to get through FIFA11, and then another week for FIFA13. I don't regret the missed homework assignments.

For those of you who are nodding and smiling and understanding every word I say, I'll give you this note: in the beginning of November, "Manager" John Green posted a video for AFC Wimbledon about the Love Story of Bald John Green and Other John Green. I wrote this before that video came out, so much of it doesn't match. (But now, because of that video, I feel it's time for the "real" story to come out ;).

This story acts as a sequel of sorts to the beautiful CertainlyUncertain's story, The Johns Green. If you haven't read that, I highly encourage you to do so! I will most likely follow her timeline much closer than anything that "Manager" John Green (MJG) has stated. Mostly because I don't trust MJG's storytelling anymore when it comes to the Johns. I do have an explanation, however, and at some point that will become evident in this story.

For me, the "canon" is the actual gameplay (and when I reference a game, I'll note the video title and number). The backstory of the John Greens is a little of what MJG stated in FIFA11 and FIFA13 and mostly what CertainlyUncertain asserted.

Heaps and heaps of thanks go out to Rianne, my beautiful beta, for putting up with my insanity and correcting my rather implausible plot. Also, huge thanks to CertainlyUncertain for letting me swipe her characters.

And on the notion of swiping characters: if the "real" John Green were to ever see this (not that I'm expecting it, but I do want to make sure all of my bases are covered), I just have one thing to say: I am not MJG-bashing. In fact, I am very supportive of the FIFA videos, and especially these new AFC Wimbledon games. But I don't apologize for Bald John Green's Manager-John bashing. Only half of it was borne out of my own frustration ;)

I hope you enjoy this little saga =)

**Part 1: April**  
**Chapter 1**

Bald John Green entered his little townhouse in Swindon after a long flight from Barcelona to the sound of his husband yelling and swearing quite profusely. John smiled broadly as he locked the front door, put his keys in the dish with a satisfying clink – something he hadn't heard in three whole weeks – and wandered upstairs to see what in the world was going on that made his husband so vocal. As he climbed the steps he heard John cry, "Oh _dear Lord_ Leeroy, I don't know how you missed that perfect opportunity after I set you up so bloody f—ing well! It's not like the defensive line was anywhere near you!"

Bald John laughed as he pushed open the door to the bedroom, finding his husband sitting on the bed, staring at the TV as he watched tapes of a recent Swoodilypoopers practice. He tried to stifle his laugh as much as he could, however, when he saw just how frustrated John was at the obvious mistakes of his teammates.

His husband looked away from the screen, startled to see him in the doorway. "John? I thought your flight didn't get in 'til much later tonight. I thought I'd be asleep when you got home." He shut off the TV quickly and turned his full attention to his bald husband, "not that I'm not happy to see you, of course," he quickly corrected.

Bald John laughed as he entered the room and stripped off his jeans and sweater to match the man in the bed before joining him. John slid in very comfortably and naturally next to his husband of now over seven years, the fit of their bodies always something that he missed while they were apart.

Was it seven years? Yes, he liked to think it was, even though the TARDIS move made time seem so different here on the other side. If he had his choice (which, admittedly, did) he would continue to count the years they had actually experienced as a married couple, rather than the time the Swindon documentations actually record, therefore eliminating nearly five years off of their marriage. If only the TARDIS had worked that way with their ages as well; this whole traded-to-Barcelona thing wouldn't have been such a big deal. John Green was sure he never would have left Swindon if he knew for sure that he had many more years as a professional footballer – but, in fact, he knew he did not.

He tightened his arms around his husband, his nose comfortably pressed against John's puffy hair. He was home here, with his husband, and he loved it even more since he started spending all of his time in Barcelona. He hated that it got increasingly more difficult to then leave less than twenty-four hours later to go back to Barcelona for practices and matches, and leave his husband here at home, still playing for the team they both loved. But it would be worth it in the end.

Swindon John turned in his husband's arms, laughing slightly when he heard the little snorts and exhalations that told him that his hair had in fact gotten tangled up in his husband's nose and mouth. Bald John reached over to turn out one of the lights, and blinked rapidly as his eyes tried to adjust to the change. They both shifted a little under the blankets, and soon settled into a fairly comfortable position. They knew that neither would fall asleep yet, but one John had a match in Swindon the next night, and the other would be spending another half day traveling, heading back to Barcelona. Both were exhausted from their activities of the day as well, so they wanted to be ready for the possibility of sleep, should it descend upon them swiftly.

Bald John reached out to brush back some of the hair from his husband's face. "How was your day?" he asked, starting the conversation in the half-dark room.

"Frustrating, as usual," his husband responded. "The Swoodilypoopers just aren't playing well together right now. I don't understand how we've won four of our last five games in the Championship and are still, somehow, in the Capital One Cup, because it's like pulling teeth out there. And it's very difficult, knowing that I can't show you the tapes or talk about specifics with you." Bald John nodded, a movement detected by his husband, who continued, "What about you?"

Bald John sighed. "Practice this morning was hard, but we're doing great. Sometimes it's rough, because I just can't seem to pick up the language as fast as I want, but we get the job done. Flying days are difficult too, even if it is only two hours airtime from Barcelona to Bristol. But it all works out, because I get to see you on the other side." He laughed slightly as he leaned in to peck his husband on the mouth.

His husband scrunched up his nose in that kind of cute way that Bald John loved so much, pulling away a little to lock eyes with him. "You know, while I loved that mustache on you, I do have to say I don't really miss it all that much."

Bald John raised his eyebrows. "What did you have against the mustache?"

John chuckled. "Nothing, John. It's just so much more comfortable to do this," here he leaned in and kissed his husband again, rubbing his nose against the man's upper lip playfully as he did so, "without getting scratched to death. It was quite a look on you, but it was so incredibly itchy."

The man with the formerly glorious mustache snorted. "_You_ thought it was itchy? You weren't even wearing it!"

Both laughed, and John reached up to stroke his husband's face, his fingers ghosting over his upper lip, where the mustache used to be, and then dipping to the rough stubble of his goatee. "Have you considered bringing it back?"

Bald John shook his head. "Not really. Shaving the mustache was definitely the right thing to do. It was never a very good, thick mustache. It always looked like it didn't belong. The goatee doesn't look like it belongs either, but I think I'll stick with it for now."

John nodded as he listened to his husband, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against his husband's chin. His hand drifted down from the strong jawline and came to rest on his husband's side, his arm resting on top of that hard stomach, toned from years and years of football. "Do you ever regret it?"

Even though he knew he couldn't see it, Bald John raised an eyebrow at his husband, who was absently playing with the seam of the t-shirt under his hand. "What do you mean? Do I regret shaving the mustache?"

John laughed. "No. Do you regret transferring to Barcelona?"

His husband fell silent for a moment, his arms tightening around John again. "Maybe I'm supposed to, but no, I don't regret transferring to Barcelona. I'm not having the best season of my career, but I know without a doubt that this was the best thing for me, for Swindon, and for us, John. For you and me."

John sighed. "I know. You're a stronger man than I, John, to be able to leave the Swoodilypoopers the way you did. I still think it was incredibly gutsy to do so without giving Manager John the chance to at least sell you, so Swindon could maybe get some better guys on the team to help fill up the gap you left."

Bald John pressed a kiss to his husband's forehead, letting his lips linger. "Gutsy, maybe. Maybe it would have been better for the club if I'd let John sell me, but, while I still have the deepest respect for the man, I completely disagree with his actions recently. He bought Ginger Rampage for over twice what he's worth, and Rampage doesn't even remember playing for us! I mean, Swindon." John paused to compose himself, trying to remember that while his heart belonged to Swindon, his loyalty no longer did. Bald John no longer had claim to any part of the Swoodilypoopers. They were a 'them' now.

He sighed, continuing. "Maybe I should have let him sell me. Maybe it was a jerk move to leave the way I did."

John interrupted him, "but it wasn't a jerk move. Not entirely, anyways. We had just heard from the adoption agency that we had been approved, it was all so sudden and kinda unexpected, and you took the opportunity that showed up to guarantee that we could make our new family, whenever that may happen, comfortable and secure. I know you, John. It's not like you didn't give Manager John enough notice, because you'd asked him if there was anything he could do, and when he couldn't, you found a place that could. You just want the best for us."

Bald John spoke again, this time even quieter: "I want a lot of things for us. A family, maybe a dog, or some other family pet. A house, like the one we had in the other dimension. Manager John just wasn't doing enough to help us with that."

John nodded, stroking his husband's cheek. For some reason, Bald John felt an inordinate amount of pressure to bring home extra money, convinced they were going to need it after retirement, even though John was sure they had a couple more years in them, and while Swindon didn't pay spectacularly, it would be enough for them. They didn't spend large amounts of money rapidly, like some other footballers they knew. They had enough to retire comfortably now, though they would both try to push back their retirement as long as possible. And definitely, John would push his bald husband into some sort of other football position, probably some sort of managing or coaching job. Maybe with a youth league somewhere. Bald John would be a great coach to the younger guys.

For his points on Manager John, however, Bald John was absolutely right. Manager John _had_ gone rather past-Swoodilypooper-happy during all of the transfer windows since they moved to this…what did he call it? FIFA13? dimension. The Swindon transfer budget was mostly going to convince these past Swoodilypoopers that they should in fact transfer over, despite the fact that Swindon was an awful team and they had no connection to it whatsoever. As a result, there was no money for the acquisition of good players, or even just the acquisition of more men, period.

And the Johns Green _had_ recently been talking about expanding their two-person family. They had both been playing football professionally for over eight years now, and while they hated to admit it, they were both starting to slow down. Not noticeably, of course, and certainly it was never spoken aloud, but they both knew that soon they should begin considering retirement, or finding other options besides starting striker. John knew his Barcelona husband was good enough to continue past being on the field as a player.

And, since they had been married for seven years, they considered it high time that they at least discuss the possibility of adopting children and settling down a little bit. They were already in the process of adoption, of course, which just takes years to do, and their move to FIFA13 had set their timeline back a lot. As for the house, well, they hated thinking about it, but once again, they knew they would have to jump through the hoops of buying a house, in the same manner in which they purchased their last house in the previous universe. As if buying one house wasn't enough hassle.

"Do you regret that? The move from the other dimension into this one?" John asked in a hushed whisper. His cheek pressed against his husband's shoulder, and his eyes started to close despite his desperate attempts trying to keep them open.

Bald John sighed deeply. "Is it wrong of me to say yes?" He paused, considering his words. "Many times, I wish we had stayed in Old Swindon, with the old team, in the old house, with our old friends. Our family life was rightfully complicated, but not nearly impossible to sort out. It's been so much more difficult here in New Swindon. I'm not sure if it's actually difficult here, or we just put ourselves into more difficult positions."

John nodded against his husband's shoulder. "Me too. I miss our families. Our team. Hannah, and Liz. I miss playing on the same team, you and me, you know? I miss playing with a good team. I, well, I guess we knew that coming here would mean that we would have to start over, to build up the Swoodilypoopers once again to the Premier League, but I don't think any of us, not you, not Leeroy, not me, and certainly not Manager John, knew what that would actually mean for us. Especially Manager John. It doesn't seem like he copes with change too well."

Bald John exhaled quickly from his nose in agreement, pressing his chin into the soft, messy, ruffled hair of his husband. "I think you're right. But, despite missing the simplicity of the old universe, well, I'm not sure. Would you move back, if we had the chance?"

"If we had the chance…" John paused for a moment, closing his eyes, breathing in the thick, familiar smell of his husband's deodorant and natural scent for a moment. He thought back to the past, to Old Swindon, to Hannah and Ashley, to meeting Bald John, to getting married, going through injuries together, scoring goals, winning trophies, getting promoted to the Premier League, buying a house, and, above all, winning the Premier League. He thought of what had happened in this dimension last season: losing the FA Cup and the Capital One Cup, winning the Johnstone's Paint Trophy, dominating the final of the npower League with his husband, getting promoted to the Championship. Then, this season: getting the call from the adoption agency that they were approved (which was a surprise in itself. A happy surprise, of course, but a surprise nonetheless), John's transfer to Barcelona, leaving his husband practicing long, hard hours with Leeroy to try to click with him the same way he connected with his former striking partner. He furrowed his eyebrows. "No, actually. I don't think I would. What's the point of life if all we do is live where it's comfortable, you know? We've absolutely grown more as individuals, and grown together as a couple, because of these trials. I think it's been a successful move in that respect, even if we haven't always enjoyed every moment. Would you?"

His husband sighed deeply under him. "I might. I miss my family. Finally, for once, after mending my relationship with Myles, everything felt solid. And now we can't even contact them, because, even if they exist here, we don't. Or at least, we're not supposed to, not here. It feels too much like we're messing with the natural order of things. But since we're here…well, I probably have more reasons to stay than go at this point. I do have to wonder how Manager John talked us into leaving Old Swindon in the first place."

John shifted himself up to look into his husband's eyes. "Manager John didn't _talk_ us into leaving, John. We _wanted_ to leave because we felt bad for New Swindon and wanted to help them out. You especially. You've always been about helping out the little guys. Sure, nothing looks like we imagined, but we're making do. We'll come out stronger on the other end, just like we did in Old Swindon, when we had nothing but nil-nil draws for all of eternity for our first year in the Premier League, and then came back the next year to win. And maybe in the process, we'll figure out how to help out the underdogs after all."

Bald John cupped his husband's face, turning both of them over so that now he was leaning on John. He pressed in and captured his lips passionately, running his thumb over the man's cheek. "God I love you," he whispered.

Other John smiled up at his husband. "That's good," he whispered back, teasing John with his lips as well as with his words.

Bald John pulled back in response, until he was yanked down to meet his husband's lips once again. "I love you too," John conceded, his arms wrapping around the other man's back. "I miss you so much when you're gone."

"I miss you too, John," the man responded, sliding his fingers through the now catastrophically-matted hair on his husband's head. Their breaths mingled as they lay there, their legs intertwined, their arms wrapped around each other. It was almost impossible to determine where one man stopped and the next one began. After a tense, thought-provoking conversation, both Johns appreciated the peace injected with their pervading love, even if it seemed fleeting.

In this moment, it was quiet.

Eventually, they shifted slightly in their positions, so that one John faced the wall, and the other was pressed right up against him. The shades were still open, the light was still on, and by no stretch of the imagination was the room ready to sleep. It was overcome with the intimate love radiating off the two men, creating that feeling of home that it seemed to miss when they weren't together.

The Johns, secure in the knowledge that they would be together through the night, slid quietly off into a comfortable sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

So, here's chapter two! Many many thanks to Rianne for her wonderful editing. Without her...this would just be a long string of run-on-sentences and unclear wordings, since it was all basically written at two in the morning.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 2**

There's something so still and quiet and perfect about waking up before the sun. About watching the light slowly spread through the sky, sliding into the trees, creeping over the ground. About the stark contrast between dark and shadowy 6 a.m. and beginning hints of light by 7, and the actual sunrise shortly thereafter. The amount of change the world undertakes in the course of that hour seems unreal, impossible, as if it's unfathomable for that kind of drastic change to happen in that amount of time. And yet the earth continues to do so, every day, without seeming to change much at all.

Bald John Green has certainly seen his fair share of sunrises. He had always been an early riser. He liked those moments before his husband woke up, when he could truly admire the man he married while he slept, while he didn't know he was being observed. His husband tended to be one of those men who tried to make sure everyone else was happy, whether that was in his personal life, in his public life, or on the pitch. Bald John was one of the very few people who knew just how hard his husband worked to keep people satisfied, to do beyond what was expected of him. It wasn't in a desperate way, or even in one of those flamboyant I-do-everything-right-for-everyone-all-the-time-so -look-at-me-go ways. It was legitimately how John Green né Bennett liked to interact with people. It wasn't that he was trying to keep people happy with him. He just wanted to keep people happy.

Bald John was the only person who knew that his husband was more than just respectfully people-pleasing. He, deep down, was trying to prove himself. For so long, he had stood in the shadow of, well, everybody. His sister was a successful doctor. His parents were not very active in his life. He wasn't even good enough to make it onto the Liverpool bench after having spent so much time in the junior league. He came to Swindon to suddenly be referred to as the Other John Green, the striking partner of the best player on the team. This was especially evident in Manager John's eyes, who clearly always preferred Bald John to Other John. Sure, the manager always respected Other John Green, but certainly didn't give him the same appreciation that he gave Bald John.

John had a theory that _this_ was why his husband scored so many goals, why he gave his all on the pitch: for that one day when Manager John would appreciate him, too, in a way that even slightly reflected the praise Manager John slathered on Bald John Green.

His husband would never admit it, though. None of it. But John knew the difference.

He pecked John on the forehead, mussed his god-awful bed hair, and got up to go make the coffee John would certainly be looking for when he woke up. As he made his way downstairs, he passed several windows, and each time, he paused to look out them. _God, Swindon is beautiful._

xxx

The former John Bennett awoke several hours later, squinting at the sun that had invaded the bedroom. Damn curtains weren't pulled last night. His frustration evaporated, however, when he smelled the coffee. The house certainly felt – or, at least, smelled – more like home when John woke up to his husband's magnificent coffee.

John flew down the steps. He was anxious to spend as much daylight with his husband as possible (though that was already well diminished, due to John's penchant to despise waking up early), before he reported for his match that night, and his husband flew back to Barcelona. The prospect of John's coffee helped. The American had perfected the making of a perfect cup of coffee, and it was something John missed more and more as they spent more and more time apart. John wasn't entirely sure how his husband's coffee tasted better than his own, but he assumed it was magic. Something about that bald head just made John feel he was in the presence of a man of pure magic.

Or was that something Manager John Green had said?

John's feet hit the bottom of the stairs, and he rounded the corner into the kitchen. They might have been married for what seemed like an eternity now, but John's heart still lurched at the sight of his husband in the kitchen, or on the couch, or on the football field, or, well, anywhere. He couldn't believe their luck, meeting on the County Ground all those years ago, and where it had taken them, and where they were now. Nothing was perfect, but John wondered if maybe perfection would be less satisfying than the life they lived right now. Because even in the difficulties and hardships, John couldn't imagine being anywhere else, being with anyone else.

His bald husband turned and gave John a beautiful smile to match the beautiful steaming cup of coffee in his hands, both of which John gratefully accepted.

"Sleep well?" he asked, sipping his scalding, nearly overflowing mug.

Bald John nodded, placing a plate of muffins on the table beside the two bowls, the box of cereal, and the carton of milk. He lifted his own mug of coffee, nearly half-empty, and clinked it against his husband's before they both sat down to eat. Bald John laughed at his still-sleepy husband's contented sigh of relief as he drained more coffee from the mug, the liquid passing his taste buds and sliding down his throat. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up several more inches off his forehead.

"What were you planning on doing after breakfast?" the bald man asked his husband as he measured out his cereal into a bowl, reaching for the milk.

John shrugged. "I've got to get those tapes back to Manager John, and somehow I've got to dump a whole lot of this stress. With the Capital One game tonight and everything, there's just so much at stake. Swindon just have to win tonight, and I don't know how we're going to pull that off, you know?" He sighed. "I'm afraid we're going to choke under pressure and get knocked out. Or that we'll just barely scrape out a win in an incredibly high-pressure situation, and that won't be pretty at all. We all know how stressed out Manager John gets when we don't play in a way that is aesthetically pleasing. Or in a way that has us win seven-nil."

Bald John laughed, nodding. "Manager John's puff levels get pretty high during extra time and penalties."

His husband swallowed a tiny bite of muffin, unable to bring himself to eat very much. He reached for an apple from the ever-present fruit bowl, hoping that would fare a little better for his stomach. Or at least get past his lips. "John, Manager John's puff levels haven't gone down since you transferred."

Bald John nodded. "Touché." They both sat in a comfortable silence after that, as John finished his cereal and watched his husband drain his coffee but practically ignore his food completely. "John, you need to eat something. You have a big game tonight."

John sighed, and met his husband's eyes. "I know. I just…I can't bring myself to eat right now. I feel like I'm going to be sick. I've got to kick this stress, and soon." He looked like he wanted to say something else as well, but was interrupted by the phone.

He jumped up to answer it, desperate to get away from the conversation about his current appetite. "Hello, John Greens residence." He caught his husband's eye, smirking. "John Green speaking."

Bald John laughed at his husband. It was just mean to have two people with the same name under one roof. The poor people on the other side had such difficulty figuring out if they were talking to the right man or not, and it often seemed incredibly impolite to ask, "wait, are you the bald one?"

It didn't keep it from being funny, though.

But John wasn't laughing anymore. He gripped the telephone closely to his ear. "Are you serious? But we were told…no, of course! We'll be there right away." He hung up the phone, and turned to his husband. "That was the agency."

Bald John widened his eyes. "The IAC?" His husband nodded. "What did they want?"

His husband smiled. "They think they found one for us. They want us to come down there right away."

Bald John was shocked. "Really? But they told us it could take anywhere between ten months and three years, and not to get our hopes up on an early call." That was why he'd transferred to Barcelona in the first place. He thought they had _time_.

John shook his head to correct his husband. "Apparently there's an exception or something, a new situation. Clare said she would explain things further when we got there, she was kind of in a rush. Who cares? They called us!"

Bald John tilted his head up, his eyes closing, almost as if he were thanking God. He rested his head against the wall behind him. "Yeah," he said quietly, "they called us."

His husband stormed over to his side of the table, grabbing his hand and yanking him up. "Put some hustle in it, Green! I want to get over there as soon as possible!"

John laughed, nodding. "Yeah, alright. I'm moving." He allowed his husband to pull him out of the kitchen, leaving the table still scattered with remains from breakfast. John dragged him through the living room into the hallway, where he shoved a pair of shoes onto each set of feet, grabbed his keys and Bald John's hand, and raced out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

My SINCEREST apologies on the lateness of this chapter. I wasn't expecting the end of the semester and the holidays to get as busy as they did. I have almost all of part one written, though, so hopefully I can start uploading on some sort of schedule.

As always, many many thanks to Rianne, for all of her help sorting out my horrendous original plot and for being available for me to bounce ideas off of. =) Also, my apologies for that horribly-worded sentence ;)

**Chapter 3**

The walk to the agency seemed to take far longer than usual. John wove his fingers between his husband's, his heart racing as they approached a large office building. Bald John reached for the front door, swapping an excited glance with his husband as he pulled on the metal bar. Warm air encapsulated them as John, and then his bald counterpart, entered the lobby. Quickly, they made their way up three flights of stairs - elevators are far too passive for their excited energy - and around the corner to the offices of the IAC. The secretary recognized them and informed them that Clare was in her office. They smiled their thanks and continued on back into the corner of the building.

Clare's door was open when they approached it, and she called them in immediately, rising to greet them. "Johns! So great to see you. Thanks for getting here so quickly; come in, come in."

They smiled at her infectious personality as they entered and took seats across from hers. She patted Bald John on the shoulder as he passed, and closed the door once they were situated. Turning to face them, she smiled broadly. "I'll try to be as quick as possible, as I'm well aware that your time is very sacred, especially now. I'm also well aware that there's an important game tonight at the County Ground that I myself will be attending." She beamed at John, who returned it feebly. The game was nerve-wracking enough just thinking about it, without the pressure of knowing that all the fans counted on him. They counted on the rest of the team, of course, but it often seemed like he took the brunt of the pressure. It had been so much easier when Bald John was still around.

Clare took her seat behind her desk and picked up the file sitting on top of her large stack of papers. "Well, I'll just get to it then." She handed the file to Bald John, who flipped it open, holding it so his husband could read through it as well. "This is April."

The very first thing in the file was a picture of a baby girl, maybe a year old or so, with a bright smile and a great mop of rather curly brown hair. Beneath that were multiple copies of important-looking documents: birth certificate, health records, and even, from what the Johns could tell in their brief cursory glance, information about her parents.

Clare began to explain. "April is fourteen months old. Her mother went missing almost two weeks ago now. April was transferred to Alyson and Wayne Turner at that time. Three days ago, her mother, Joanne Steele, was found in a small apartment just outside of Swindon. The autopsy indicated a purposeful overdose."

John sucked in a sharp breath in shock. How horrible. What would have caused someone to purposefully abandon her daughter, and her life, like that?

Clare continued, "Ms. Steele was difficult to track down in the records, but from what we could find, she was born in Virginia, and had moved to London not long after graduating college. Her parents informed us that they were unhappy with many of her decisions, and therefore have refused to take in the baby. April's birth certificate does not list a father. In many cases, that would cause us to worry about April's interaction with men, but she's responded very positively to Wayne in her foster home, so we think you two will be just fine," she finished.

John tightened his grip on his husband's hand. _God. They think we'll be a good match for April_.

He mentally corrected himself. _Of _course _they think we'll be a good match for her. They wouldn't have called us otherwise._

Clare smiled, gauging their reactions. "Would you be interested in visiting her today?"

John turned his head to meet his husband's eyes. _Would they ever_.

xxx

Clare led them up to the door of a typical Swindon townhouse, and knocked three times. A young woman, no older than nineteen or twenty, answered the door.

Clare smiled broadly. "Sinead! Wonderful to see you again. I brought…"

Sinead blushed, and breathed out, "Bald John Green and Other John Green. I know. I'm a big fan."

Bald John nodded in appreciation, noting his husband's inability to form sentences in his excitement. "Thank you very much. We love what we do, and we love to meet those who support us." His husband's puff bounced as he nodded as well, grinning uncontrollably.

Sinead stepped back, opening the door wide. "Well, come in, I guess. I mean, I suppose I can invite you in. This isn't my house...but Alyson's with the baby, so…"

"Just let them in, Sinead!" a voice called from inside, cutting off her nervous ramble. The girl flushed, letting out an awkward chuckle, and stepped aside completely. Bald John placed his hand between his husband's shoulder blades, pushing him inside. He entered right behind John, and Clare closed the door behind her.

The narrow entryway opened up into a comfortably-sized living room, and the center of attention was the toddling baby on the rug. April clutched the finger of a middle-aged woman, who glanced up as they walked in. "Hi," she said cheerfully, "I'm Alyson Turner."

John turned to face his bald husband. "John," he whispered, his eyes dancing back and forth between his husband's face and the squirming child on the ground, "John, look at her."

Bald John laughed, wrapping a lanky arm around his husband, supporting him, guiding him further into the room. "It's nice to meet you, Alyson. I'll make this easy: both of our names are John Green."

She laughed, beckoning them into the room with her free hand. "Yes, so I've heard. My husband is a big Swoodilypooper supporter, and even Sinead talks about you from time to time." She winked at the girl, who came to join Alyson on the floor. Sinead was blushing bright red, diverting her eyes from the Johns. "It's very nice to meet you both," Alyson continued, "but we all know you're not here for me."

The Johns nodded and moved to sit on the rug in front of April, careful not to startle her as they sat opposite Alyson and Sinead. Alyson gave the baby a small launch off her finger. April, unsteady on her feet, took a few steps toward John.

He stretched out his hands, and she tipped forward, grasping a few of the fingers on his right hand. John, feeling a little awkward, bounced her arm slightly as she used his hand to steady herself. She giggled, putting pressure on his arm as she turned around and stretched her free hand out for the ball on the ground not too far away.

Bald John reached for it and lightly tossed the small plastic ball to her. It hit the ground by her feet, and she lifted a leg, touching it with her foot.

John laughed, lifting up her hand still wrapped around several of his fingers. He looked to his husband. "She's a future football star," he stated through his amusement.

Alyson chuckled. "She _is _rather fond of her feet, which makes bath time always fun."

Sinead nodded earnestly, laughing. "Bathing April is a two-man job, certainly."

In that moment, Clare moved into the room to sit with them, and used that opening to move the conversation into a discussion about April, her habits, her sleeping patterns, her intake of food, and the like. The way that Clare asked questions made it seem like she was just checking up on April, making sure she was happy and healthy in her foster home, but the Johns knew that in many, many ways, this was for their benefit as well. John took a very large number of internal notes as he listened to Sinead and Alyson describe April's normal day.

Eventually, Bald John stole a glance at his watch. "Oh. We should probably be on our way. We have some other errands to attend to today as well."

John leaned over, checking the time on his husband's wrist. "Oh yeah, you're right. Lots of stuff before the game, and your flight tonight." He smiled, taking the proffered hand his husband held out to help him off the floor. "It was really very nice to meet you all," he said, glancing from Alyson to Sinead, and then down to baby April.

Alyson smiled, lifting April off the ground as she stood up, stretching out a hand for the Johns to shake. "You both as well. You're absolutely welcome to stop by any time; at least one of us should be here with April. Sinead and I work mostly from home," she offered as explanation. "We definitely look forward to seeing you again soon."

The Johns smiled, thanking Alyson and Sinead once more, and turned to exit, hearing Clare take her leave as well. John couldn't resist running his hand through April's hair just once before he left, amused by the way it fell across her head in a way that was not unlike his own.

Clare stopped them outside. "So?" she prompted.

John smiled. "She's wonderful." Clare nodded energetically.

Bald John cut in. "By when would you need our answer?" He ignored his husband's sudden look of shock as he processed the question.

Clare seemed a little taken aback as well, not really expecting them to say anything other than 'yes, please, right away'. "As soon as possible, really. We'll give you a couple days to sort everything out, but ideally, we'd really like your answer by Monday," she explained.

Bald John nodded. "We'll let you know by the end of the day on Monday, then."

Clare smiled, nodding, and parted ways with the Greens.

xxx

Bald John took his husband's hand comfortably as they made their way back home. It was so incredibly nice to walk hand in hand with the man he called his husband. For a long time, he never thought he would be able to in this way. Now, it just seemed normal, and he was very grateful for FIFA13 Swindon's open mind and overwhelming acceptance of their gay married starting strikers, even if he _was_ only on the team for a season. He stroked the back of John's hand with his thumb as they walked. A seemingly long silence hung between them before John penetrated it.

"Are you unsure about adopting April?"

Bald John looked to his husband, surprised at the question. "Yes," he stated unequivocally.

John was confused. "Why? She's perfect."

Bald John nodded. "I know."

"We'll never get another opportunity like this again."

He sighed. "I know."

"They're expecting us to say yes."

Bald John was silent, squeezing his husband's hand. He didn't need to say anything; they were both keenly aware of that fact.

"I don't know how we can say no," John whispered, his free hand running through his hair, making it spike up.

Bald John nodded. "We have to think about all the pros and cons, John. Can we really take care of a baby while you're a busy starting striker here, and I'm doing the same in Barcelona?" He paused. "There's just so much to think about and discuss." From his tone, though, it didn't sound like he planned on that discussion happening now, or anytime soon. When Bald John said he needed time to think, he was usually no help until he'd taken that time.

John nodded in response. "I just hate to see this opportunity pass by, you know? It just feels right." He tried to keep the dialogue as open as possible, hoping he could convince his husband to change his mind before he shut down the conversation.

Bald John Green paused. "I understand," he said finally and with a note of finality, and John knew at once that it was no use trying to convince him otherwise. "Come on, let's get home and have some lunch. You hardly ate anything for breakfast, and you'll want your strength for the huge Sheffield Wednesday game tonight. We can continue this conversation after we eat." He tugged on his husband's arm, and they finished their short walk back home.


End file.
